


gilded

by PenroseByAnyOtherName



Category: Hololive, Virtual Streamer Animated Characters
Genre: Dragon Age AU, Dwarf Anya, Empress Reine, F/F, Fluff, mentions of sex and alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenroseByAnyOtherName/pseuds/PenroseByAnyOtherName
Summary: Raised by humans in the Free Marches, armed with her signature blade and roguish charm, Anya Melfissa thinks she is prepared for just about anything. Anything, except for the Empress of Orlais, Reine I, to take a pointed interest in her.
Relationships: Anya Melfissa/Pavolia Reine
Kudos: 30





	gilded

Things were unclear. Had been unclear, really, since her third cup of wine. There was a warmth, and a wanting, a wanting that was always there when she was in Orlais, and a newer need built not between her thighs but lightly beneath her breast.

The Empress had been gracious in allowing her to stay at her private home, away from any palaces. A little manor tucked away in the snowy forests of Orlais, a private retreat where, the Empress had insisted, they could discuss business. The Lyrium Trade in particular, as she herself was directly involved and that was what had first won her the spot at the Empress’s manor. She had known from the moment the invitation arrived that she would spend her trip in agony, yet had never thought it may culminate in pleasure.

Rubbing her eyes, Anya Melfissa propped herself up on one elbow.

The room she was in was not her own at the private home. It was far grander, gilded and glittering, a palace in itself. She could remember going in, just for a drink, a talk in private about matters best kept hidden. A cup of wine, then another, as gilded lips spoke of a more personal need for lyrium, glittering eyes hidden behind a mask of pure dragon bone and detailed with little gems. She had kept the mask on, and sleepily she wondered if it had remained on.

Frantic, Anya almost fell off the bed in an attempt to get up and find her clothes, panicking as she realised where she was.

Stopping, she stared at her reflection, caught in a most beautiful mirror across the room. Her naked body seemed almost foreign to her. She was slight, slender and bony for a dwarf, and she looked unusual. Like she was looking at someone else, accusing her instead of herself of what had been done the night before.

Roaming hands seemed still to ghost over her body, gilded lips at her face, neck, down her chest, her own hands reaching. Grabbing hold of a mask worth more than her life, not begging to remove it, not even asking, simply lifting it off the beautiful face.

Bold, the Empress had whispered, or perhaps stupid, but Anya knew what she had done.

Then, Anya felt regret wash over her. What was she doing, playing at understanding the Game, pretending to know what was going on, and why, Maker, had she taken off her mask?

She pulled her tunic on, hair pushing through wildly, and she wondered when her braids had come undone.

When the door gently swung open, she lunged for her belt, hoping she would reach her blade in time. By the time she stood, curved blade in hand and still sheathed, the door had closed, and a woman was standing there, a tray in her arms.

“A menacing sight, mon cœur,” the woman purred. “Though perhaps it would be more so if you had on your trousers.”

It was only then that Anya remembered the face she saw before her. The fine and delicate features hidden beneath a mask for so long, they had seemed foreign at first, but Anya knew them then. Those same lips that had brushed her own, thick eyelashes fluttering over high porcelain cheeks with each slow blink, and the startling green eyes.

“Your imperial majesty,” Anya choked, dropping her sword and staring up at the woman.

The Empress rolled her eyes and sighed, placing the tray down on the large bed and sliding onto it. She wore only a dressing gown of rich blue velvet, peacock feathers at its shoulder. It fit perfectly to her form, and Anya tugged nervously at her own coarse tunic as she stared.

Seeing Anya would do nothing, the Empress bid her forward with a sweeping gesture of her hand and a smile. “Does my dwarf think herself sly, trying to slip away unseen?”

“I only thought,” Anya began, approaching nervously, thinking perhaps it was an illusion, her empress laid out upon her bed, asking her forward with just a look and body language. “I’m not exactly the ideal consort, for an empress.”

“Nor am I an ideal empress, yet I wear my mask well, no?” the Empress teased, reaching a hand out to hold Anya’s chin.

“Why does the Empress of Orlais want a dwarf?” Anya asked, trying not to regret it.

“Bold,” the Empress whispered, in that same hushed way she had the night before. “Or do you really think I am not so human beneath the mask?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Anya tried, but the Empress only smiled.

“I am no stranger to carnal desire, the needs of flesh, mon cœur,” the Empress breathed as she held her dwarf by the chin and pulled her closer, lips brushing against her cheek. “I want what I want, and it is not often I do not get what I want.”

“You want me?” Anya asked, incredulous, confused.

“You wound your own pride for flattery, yet you were so prideful last night,” the Empress remarked as she took a kiss from her. “What did you say to me when you spread my legs? That you would make the songbird sing?”

Anya felt her face go warm, remembering suddenly and viscerally her drunk slurring against a soft white thigh. Not the worst thing she had said, and she swallowed hard.

“Not so bold without the cover of night?” teased the Empress when Anya said nothing.

“I just can’t believe you want me,” Anya said, earnest and scared as she looked up at her.

“Last night should have been more than enough to convince you, no?”

“Your majesty-”

“Reine,” the Empress corrected.

A shuddering breath came before Anya found it in herself to try again. “Reine, you control the largest empire in Thedas, I’m a dwarf, raised on the surface by a human-”

“The Lady Chancellor of Tantervale,” Reine reminded her, a teasing hand stroking her hair and easing her forward.

“Which is how I got into the Lyrium Trade,” Anya explained. “Which is why I’m here.”

“Why you are here is of little consequence to me,” said Reine, waving her hand. “You are here, and I never thought Lady Chancellor would send me such a magnifique little dwarf, yet you are here and you are mine.”

“Yours?” Anya found herself laughing, unable to believe it. “You must be joking.”

“Non,” Reine shook her head and held Anya closer.

“You could have anyone,” Anya said.

“I could, and I choose you,” Reine breathed against her lips. “As I said, it is not often I do not get what I want.”

“What will your people say about this?” Anya asked, as if looking for any way to crack that delicate marble certainty.

“They will know of it, but they will not speak of it, I assure you,” Reine murmured, crawling atop her. “My predecessors have had far more shameful lovers, elves and mages, I do not think a well to do dwarf will put my reputation in shambles.”

“We can be open?” Anya choked, knowing that was too good to be true.

“Non, not in so many words,” Reine shook her head, nudging her nose against Anya’s cheek. “It will be known, but it will not be discussed. You will not have a title, and you may not refer to me as your lover, nor you my consort, but you will have a dance with me, we will take meals together, bathe together, you will accompany me to my chambers.”

“Part of the game?” Anya asked as she let the idea sink in. All of Orlais, all of Thedas even, knowing she was who occupied the Empress’s bed. Who she wanted.

“In some ways,” Reine nodded and stole another kiss.

Pulling back, Anya grinned. “An element of secrecy then, how thrilling.”

“There is my prideful one again, so charming and bold,” teased Reine, still smirking.

“Do you like me when I’m bold?” asked Anya, playful as she reached up, running a slight hand along Reine’s cheek.

Turning her head, Reine kissed Anya’s palm and whispered against it, breath warm. “I love you when you are bold, mon cœur, my little lion, with your wild mane and great confidence.”

“Is that what that means? Mon...mon cure? Does that mean lion?” Anya grinned, the words messy in her mouth but sweet all the same.

“Not precisely,” Reine laughed as she kissed at Anya’s cheek. She whispered against it, “It means my heart.”

Anya stopped her laughter as she let the words settle in, feeling as though she could not breathe as she tried to speak them back to Reine. Her heart, she thought, over and over. It made her mind soft and she felt her tongue become heavy as her own heart began thrumming loudly in her chest.

Her stomach flipped, and she spoke. “My empress.”

“I am an empress to many,” Reine murmured, and Anya could hear hurt under the surface. “I have only one heart. Is this part of the game? Are you trying to assert dominance?”

“No,” Anya said hurriedly, suddenly realising what was thought of her words. “I just said what came to mind, I can call you that thing, mon cure, my heart, I can, I didn’t mean to insult you, it isn’t the game I only-”

Sweet lips kissed her own, quieting her, and she could feel them curving into a smile even as they broke apart. “I need to remember not everyone is playing the game, and that some people still speak foolishly and freely.”

“You make me foolish, I can hardly think with you so close,” Anya whispered, slight hand grasping at Reine’s hair.

“I like that,” Reine said earnestly. “I spend far too much time around people who think far too much. It is a delight, to have someone who speaks as she pleases and without worry of what one might think. A danger, bringing you home with me, but what is life without danger, no?”

“You say a lot of things, I think you speak as you please.” Anya gently stroked her hair.

“With you I can, but you will not like me so much once engaged in the game.”

“Will you wear your mask?” Anya asked nervously.

“I will,” Reine sighed, brushing her fingers across Anya’s cheek. “Know though that every night I will get on my knees before you, and you will lift it from my face, and only you will see beneath it.”

“Good,” Anya smiled and gently touched Reine’s cheek in return, as if trying to memorise her face with her fingertips. “I love what’s beneath it.”

“And what is beneath my skin?” Reine asked, teasing and light.

“I haven’t got much of a chance to see it, but if it’s like what I have seen, I’ll love it,” Anya assured her, knowing that beneath the jest there was honesty, and fear.

Fear only she would be able to see. No, Anya corrected. That only she was allowed to see.

Though there were no declarations of love, that was enough. To see the Empress without her mask, and not only the physical one that laid discarded beside the bed. Knowing of all the people in Thedas, she was who got to see Reine.

Not Her Imperial Majesty, or the Empress of Orlais, or Reine I.

Just Reine, and that in itself was a gesture of love grander than any game and more powerful than even her most gilded words.


End file.
